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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29891148">Black like your heart</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary'>Nary</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - BARI Star | Harrowhark Nonagesimus Joins the Cohort, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Buying inappropriate literature for minors, Confessions, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Duelling, F/F, Military Training</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:23:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29891148</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"So, why don't you have a cavalier with you?" Isaac asked.   Jeannemary elbowed him in the ribs, and told him not to be rude, but she still looked to Harrow in case she was going to answer.</p><p>"The Ninth House is... very small," Harrow said.  This was not the complete answer - not even close to the complete answer - but it would have to do for now.  "There wasn't anyone capable and willing to go with me."</p><p>"Ohh," Isaac said, sighing sympathetically.  "Well, look, don't worry about it too much.  The Cohort will probably assign you someone eventually."</p><p>"Yeah, next time a necro dies and there's a spare cav around," Jeannemary added.  Now it was her turn to get jabbed in the ribs by Isaac.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Black like your heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaintlyMacabre/gifts">FaintlyMacabre</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harrowhark shook her head, clearing it from the strange fog that had momentarily passed through her.  The striking coffee adept was still standing there, waiting for her to reply.  In fact, everyone seemed to be staring at her - the diminutive pair of Fourth House lieutenants, the unfamiliar middle-aged woman who had so rudely cut in line in front of her, everyone else waiting behind her for their serving of hot black sludge.  </p><p>"Are you taking it, or what?" the BARI star asked her, and Harrow flushed beneath her paint, this time in annoyance, and grabbed the cup.  It was blazingly hot against her fingers but she refused to show any pain.  She took it and whirled away from the counter, the Fourth duo trailing after her with their own drinks, which seemed to lean more towards concoctions covered in foam and sprinkles.</p><p>They managed to find a table together and Harrow put down her drink in secret relief, rubbing her feverish hands against the starched fabric of her trousers.  Lieutenants Tettares and Chatur glanced at each other, then back at her, settling into their seats.  "Are you okay?" the cavalier asked.</p><p>"I'm perfectly fine," Harrow replied stiffly.  </p><p>"Only, you seemed like you had kind of a funny turn there for a second," Isaac said, a look of concern on his obscenely youthful face.  "I know Colonel Pent butted in front of you in line, but she always does that--"</p><p>
  <span class="small">("Oh my god, she doesn't always, Isaac.")</span>
</p><p>"--but she's a senior officer and sometimes she's in a hurry, and she jumps to the head of the line.  She doesn't mean to be rude, so you shouldn't take it personally.  She's actually really nice, for a colonel."</p><p>"Yeah, and her husband runs the whole cafeteria system on the <i>Harbinger</i>, not just on this deck, but all the decks, so she gets certain perks," Jeannemary added.  "Like extra sprinkles on her BARI."</p><p>"Magnus gives everyone extra sprinkles, if you ask.  He's a big softie."</p><p>"Yes but she doesn't even have to ask."</p><p>Harrow was barely paying attention to the steady stream of inane chatter from the young pair.  She was still thinking about the unfamiliar coffee adept, the way her crisp white sleeves had strained over her muscular arms as she stretched to pass the drink across the counter, the extremely obnoxious way her red hair stuck to her forehead with sweat... it was obscene.  To distract herself, she tried a sip of the drink.  It was still far too hot, singeing her tongue, with a taste like burnt rubber and charcoal.  "People drink this voluntarily?" she gasped, once she had halfway recovered. </p><p>"Don't you have coffee on the Ninth?" Isaac asked, sipping his frothy concoction.    </p><p>Harrow, for whom water with a slice of lemon in it was 'a bit spicy,' shook her head.  </p><p>"It's an acquired taste," said Jeannemary, as if she was a grizzled veteran of forty instead of a fresh-faced baby of fourteen.  "But it really does make you feel better.  You know, helps with the space sickness."</p><p>Isaac nodded.  "I felt like I was going to heave all the time when we first got here, until I found out about BARI.  It helps stabilize all your, you know, fluids and enzymes and stuff," he said with a vague wave of his hand that suggested he really wasn't entirely clear how it worked.</p><p>Harrow had to admit that the persistent headache she'd had ever since coming on board seemed to be fading.  Cautiously, she tried taking another sip.  The drink was fractionally cooler now, and while she still hated the taste, she hated it a tiny bit less than she had before.  "Thank you," she said grudgingly.</p><p>"So, why don't you have a cavalier with you?" Isaac asked.   Jeannemary elbowed him in the ribs, and told him not to be rude, but she still looked to Harrow in case she was going to answer.</p><p>"The Ninth House is... very small," Harrow said.  This was not the complete answer - not even close to the complete answer - but it would have to do for now.  "There wasn't anyone capable and willing to go with me."</p><p>"Ohh," Isaac said, sighing sympathetically.  "Well, look, don't worry about it too much.  The Cohort will probably assign you someone eventually."</p><p>"Yeah, next time a necro dies and there's a spare cav around," Jeannemary added.  Now it was her turn to get jabbed in the ribs by Isaac.  </p><p>"We have Tactical Fluid Manipulation at 1300, we should get going if we want to make it in time," Isaac said.  "Are you coming too?"</p><p>Harrow found the idea of manipulating bodily fluids to be rather crude.  "I have... something else," she said.  'Something else' entailed going and hiding in her room until lights out.</p><p>"Okay," Isaac said cheerfully, finishing the last swig of his BARI and getting up.  "Come on, Jeannemary.  We'll see you later, Nonagesimus."  The pair headed off and were swiftly swallowed up in the crowd.  </p><p>Harrow took the time to finish her cup of black swill.  She had to admit, by time she reached the end of the drink, that she did feel considerably improved.  Even the food was beginning to smell appealing, and she hadn't wanted to eat since her arrival on the <i>Harbinger</i> the previous week.  She went back to the cafeteria's food service counter - avoiding the one with the uncomfortably thought-provoking BARI star - and got a plate of fish and rice, and a salad.</p><p>As she picked at her meal, her thoughts turned back once again to the attractive coffee adept, but she forced them away with a rigor born of long years of solitude and discipline.  She hadn't come here to meet people or find romance or see the universe - she was here for one reason and one reason only: to make one last-ditch effort to save her House, and probably die trying.  </p><p>~~~</p><p>"I didn't know there was a library on board," Harrow said.  She had skipped half of her orientation, slipping away after the cadet leading the tour had stopped paying attention to her, and was still learning new parts of the ship daily. </p><p>The Fourth House duo both shrugged.  It was a few days since their first meeting, and they'd taken to joining Harrow for meals each day.  "Wardenbooks isn't exactly a library.  It's more like... you can get stuff to read there, but you can keep it.  And they take it out of your pay," Isaac said.  "You don't have to give it back after, though."  </p><p>"What sort of material does it have?" Harrow asked, intrigued despite herself.  "I suppose things to help soldiers perform better.  Books on tactics, strategy, leadership?"</p><p>Isaac snickered and Jeannemary put a hand over her mouth.  "Not exactly.  It's more like things to help people, uh, relax when they're off duty."</p><p>"It's a lot of dirty magazines," Isaac clarified.  "And comics and action-adventures and so on, but I think most people go there for the smut."</p><p>"People trade around some of the best ones," Jeannemary said.  "But like, ew, who wants someone else's used porn?"</p><p>"Beggars can't be choosers," said Isaac.</p><p>"Why can't you just get your own?" Harrow asked, despite her best judgment.</p><p>"Uh, because," Isaac said, as though the answer should have been obvious, "we're only fourteen?"</p><p>It seemed wrong on some fundamental level to Harrow that these kids - children, really, barely much older than toddlers - could go into battle and kill and risk death, but not look at a dirty magazine.  "How old do you have to be?"</p><p>"Sixteen," Jeannemary said gloomily.  </p><p>"Well, then," Harrow said, picking up her tray.  "I'm old enough. I could get you some."</p><p>"Would you really?" Isaac asked, his eyes widening.  Jeannemary looked as if she barely dared to dream of such a bounty.  "We'd pay you back, of course."</p><p>Money wasn't something Harrow had ever paid much attention to.  She wasn't here to make a fortune in the war - she didn't really expect to have the opportunity to spend whatever funds she earned, whether she died out here in space, or ever made it back to the Ninth.  "Don't worry about it," she told them.</p><p>As it turned out, the bookshop was only a short distance from the cafeteria. It wasn't the sordid, cramped space she'd expected, but a well-lit and spacious room dotted here and there with cushioned chairs, a few potted ferns, and a plex counter along one wall that was polished to a gleaming shine.  There were also rows upon rows of flimsy pornography.  Isaac hadn't been wrong - there were other types of reading material there too, but Harrow's gaze was drawn first and foremost to the covers with their brightly-colored, scantily-clothed torsos with titles like  <i>Getting to Third</i> and <i>Cohort Creampie Cuties.</i></p><p>It also made her realize that she hadn't asked <i>what kind</i> of dirty magazines they wanted.  She had somehow assumed they'd all be more or less alike, maybe barring the sex of the participants, but there was in fact an enormous variety, so many that it made her lightheaded.</p><p>"Can I help you?" asked the man behind the counter.  Harrow spun around, startled.  He was tall and skinny, with glasses that made him look older than he actually was.  "Looking for anything in particular?" he asked.</p><p>"I'm just...browsing," Harrow said, unwilling to admit that she had no idea what she was looking for.  Maybe she should just go back and ask the terrible teens for more information, but that would mean retreating and then coming back here, which might be even more embarrassing than being asked if she needed help selecting wank material.  "I haven't been here before, and there's a lot of selection."  She tried to exude a confidence she didn't feel.</p><p>"Maybe you'd be more comfortable talking to my assistant," the young man said.  "Camilla's very discreet.  CAM!" he called, before Harrow could actually answer.  She contemplated whether she could rearrange her own molecules enough to sink through the metal floor and vanish.</p><p>A woman with blunt-cropped bangs emerged from a storage room, carrying a huge pile of flimsies that she set down on the counter.  The tall, scrawny man beckoned for her to come over and she approached them.  "What's the problem?"</p><p>"She's new here," the man was saying.  "I thought maybe she could use some help picking out something to read."</p><p>Harrow was trapped in the particular hell created by overly helpful customer service people.  She considered grabbing the first magazine she could reach, but she'd still have to pay, which would mean putting the thing on the counter in front of everyone.  Maybe she should just fake a suddenly-remembered appointment and make a break for it...</p><p>"Hey, Sex Pal!" came a distressingly loud and familiar voice.  "You got the new issue of <i>Frontline Titties</i> in yet?"</p><p>The man, whose name could not possibly be 'Sex Pal', turned and grinned at the woman who'd just entered, the red-haired coffee adept with the broad shoulders and rolled up sleeves.  "Hey, Ginger," he said.  "You just getting off work?"</p><p>"I'm gonna be getting off <i>something,</i>" she said with a smirk.  Harrow's face, if it could have been perceived under its heavy layer of makeup, was flushed a ghastly crimson. And that innuendo didn't even actually make sense, if you thought about it, which she absolutely was not!  But it <i>did</i> provide enough of a distraction that she could try to slip away.</p><p>However, her escape attempt was thwarted by the woman with the bobbed hair and bangs, who was still standing attentively nearby.  "What sort of things are you interested in?" she asked Harrow, who squirmed under her calm gaze.</p><p>"Bones," she said desperately.  "Bone magic, I mean.  Not like... uh... the meat kind."</p><p>"Okay," Camilla said, as if this wasn't at all an unusual request in her chosen profession.  "I can work with that.  Follow me."</p><p>Harrow scurried after her, thankful to get away before the red-haired soldier could notice her there.  Camilla led her to a row of flimsies that seemed mainly to emphasize large breasts being lovingly cupped by skeletal hands.  They had titles like <i>Naughty Necros</i> and <i>Boned Down.</i>  "Something like this?" Camilla suggested, her expression as casual as if she was offering a choice of fish or chicken for dinner.</p><p>Grabbing one without looking at it too closely, Harrow muttered a quick thanks and headed back to the front of the shop.  It only dawned on her belatedly that she should have lingered over her choice, to give the other customer time to pick out her filthy wares and leave.  Now they were both at the check-out station together, the red-haired coffee adept swiping her card to pay for a stack of magazines that mainly seemed, from Harrow's hasty glance, to focus on strapping female cavaliers with improbably tight uniforms.  She clutched her own selection close to her chest, suddenly aware of how flat it seemed.</p><p>Then the other woman (Ginger? Was that actually her name?) turned and grinned at Harrow.  "Hey, Bone Nun! I didn't expect to run into you here in this den of sin."  Her dazzling golden eyes flicked down to the magazine Harrow was clutching, thankfully face-in, and then drifted slowly back up to meet her gaze.  Meeting her gaze made Harrow feel utterly exposed, as if she stood there without paint or robes or anything.  "Picking up some light reading?"</p><p>"No," Harrow lied.</p><p>"Okay, well, whatever floats your boat," she said, and with another dazzling smile she picked up her pile of porn.  "I'm gonna go float mine."</p><p>"That doesn't even make sense," Harrow muttered to her retreating back.</p><p>"See you around, Lieutenant Gloomy-pants!"</p><p>Harrow was fuming, a mix of irritated and embarrassed that coalesced into a foaming concoction of anger.  She swiped her card so violently that she almost snapped it in half, startling the gawky man behind the counter, and stormed out of the shop.</p><p>The teens were waiting a short distance away, trying ineffectually to look casual.  Harrow shoved the magazine at them with a grimace and Isaac took it, flipping it over to look at the cover.  "<i>Into The Bone Zone</i>?" he said in a bewildered tone.  "Uh, thanks, I guess?"</p><p>"It's cool, and we appreciate it and all, but maybe next time," Jeannemary suggested, "you could get a skin mag that includes actual skin?"  </p><p>Harrow threw up her hands with an exasperated sigh.</p><p>~~~</p><p>Basic training was an unusual experience for Harrowhark.  Most of the Cohort worked in pairs - necromancer and cavalier - and the training process was designed with that expectation in mind.  She had arrived on her own, and her position as chaplain, her rank, her House, all set her apart from the other new recruits.  Isaac and Jeannemary, after the initial week or two of hazing, settled in more comfortably.  They gradually made other friends, although they still made an effort to meet up with Harrow for lunch or dinner when they could.  She had come to appreciate their inane chatter over the churning of her own thoughts.</p><p>Harrowhark's duties as a Black Anchorite chaplain were currently rather limited.  Eventually, her responsibilities would include handling the remains of soldiers who died on the front - ensuring that they were recovered with haste and handled with dignity, to be returned to their Houses or, if they were a particularly heroic dead soldier, to be housed forever in the Mithraeum with the most honoured dead.  But there weren't any fatalities in basic training, at least so far, and it wasn't as if there were any other Ninth House soldiers who might seek her clerical guidance or wisdom (assuming she had any).</p><p>The other chaplain currently assigned to the <i>Harbinger</i> was the more typical Eighth House representative, Brother Silas, who was forever accompanied by his hulking cavalier.  Harrow knew he didn't appreciate her presence there, because he made a show of sniffing disdainfully and moving to the other side of the corridor when she passed by.  Harrow didn't particularly care if he liked her or not - she wasn't here to make friends, after all.  But it did make it inconvenient when Harrow wanted to use the <i>Harbinger'</i>s small, bone-lined chapel, because he and his cavalier always seemed to be in there whenever she most wanted a few moments of quiet contemplation.  It was like he knew when she was going to be there, and would make himself ostentatiously busy dusting the ossuary or whatever.</p><p>Her commanding officers often seemed at a loss as to what to do with her - which was fitting enough, as she herself was often at a loss as to what she was doing here.  They could put her through physical exercise, which she was generally miserable at, but when it came to making use of her necromantic abilities, they mostly shrugged and told her to practice making constructs.  Harrow had been making constructs since she was a toddler - it was like asking her to practice breathing.</p><p>Besides, most of the time they were in space, and there was such limited thanergy to work with there.  There were training constructs, practice dummies of bone and sinew that were made to fight and fall down and get back up over and over, but it wasn't enough to work with properly.  So really, it was like asking Harrow to practice breathing through a straw while wearing a mask.  She struggled with it, and berated herself for her failures even though she knew perfectly well why they were happening, and mostly felt frustrated by the entire experience.  It was at times like this that she consoled herself with the thought that very likely, even if her plan succeeded, she would probably be dead and not have to worry about it anymore.</p><p>So it was something of a surprise when she arrived for one of her morning training sessions (she often skipped the afternoon ones and no one seemed to notice or care enough to reprimand her) to find Colonel Pent waiting for her.  "Lieutenant Nonagesimus," she said, and Harrow saluted as she'd learned to do.</p><p>"I understand you've been having some difficulties with the training regime," she said.  Harrow was mortified to imagine that she had been the subject of some officers' meeting, a <i>what will we do about Harrowhark?</i> line item on an agenda.</p><p>"I'll work harder, Colonel," she said, presuming that was what was expected of her.  </p><p>Colonel Pent smiled, shaking her head.  "You can only do so much without a cavalier, though.  That's why we're assigning you one, at least on a temporary basis."  She gestured and Harrow turned around to see the red-haired BARI star standing there.  </p><p>She was dressed in a proper uniform now, sleeves not rolled up, hair neatly combed, a sword slung at her side, but her smile was just as insufferable as usual.  "Lieutenant Nonagesimus," she said, as if she wasn't thinking <i>Bone Nun.</i>  "I'm Gideon Nul.  I'll be your cavalier for today."</p><p>"I'll let you two get acquainted," Colonel Pent said, and strode off briskly.</p><p><i>What kind of name was Nul?</i> Harrow felt the paint between her eyebrows crack as she frowned.  "For today?" she said.</p><p>"Well, until we see how this works," Gideon replied.  "Think of it as a trial period.  Fuck around, find out."</p><p>Harrow had no intention of fucking around with anyone, let alone an irritatingly handsome cavalier who seemed to spend more time serving coffee instead of swinging a sword. "Why don't you have a necromancer already?" </p><p>Gideon made an <i>it's complicated</i> face.  "Most people train with a partner before they ever get to the Cohort.  But since I basically grew up here..."</p><p>"What do you mean, grew up here?"  Harrow realized that Gideon's uniform didn't have any of the usual trim or ornamentation that would indicate what House she belonged to - it was plain, unadorned.  <i>Nul</i>, she thought again.  <i>No House, no real name.</i></p><p>"It's a weird story," Gideon warned her.  "Are you sure you want to hear it?" Harrow nodded, so she continued.  "The <i>Harbinger</i> picked up a distress beacon and when they tracked it back to its source, they found a shuttle containing a dead woman and a live baby.  Which was me," she added, rather unnecessarily in Harrow's opinion.  "No one could figure out where it came from, so I grew up here.  Kind of like a mascot for the ship. Everyone took turns taking care of me now and then, but Abigail and Magnus looked after me the most."  It took Harrow a minute to realize that meant Colonel Pent and her husband, who must have been barely older than kids themselves when a baby was dropped into their laps.  </p><p>"But it meant that once I got older I never actually had a necromancer to train with full time, just whoever was free. So I do a lot of sword practice on my own," she continued, also quite unnecessarily given the massive size of her arms. "And making coffee, of course.  Magnus taught me both, but he's better at the coffee," she grinned.  "I'm better at the sword."</p><p>"All right," Harrow said, grudgingly.  "We can give it a try."</p><p>Three hours later, Harrow was shaky and drenched and miserable, and Gideon had broken a light sweat.  Harrow had only ever trained with Ortus, on her parents' orders, and his methods didn't exactly involve pushing her to her limits.  Mostly he was content to do a few cursory passes with his sword, carry his panniers of bones shards around as requested, and then retire to his cell to write bad poetry.  Gideon had actually expected to <i>train.</i>  Which meant running and climbing and jumping and doing push-ups and generally moving a lot more than Harrow was accustomed to.</p><p>"Why," she gasped, leaning against a wall in order to avoid just collapsing to the floor, "is any of this necessary?  I'm just a necromancer.  I'm going to make constructs to do all of the physical work for me."  Her face paint left a sad smear of black grease on the clean, glossy surface.    </p><p>Gideon shrugged.  "If someone's trying to kill you, you don't have to make it easy for them.  I mean, if I'm your cav, it'll be my job to protect you, sure, but I can't be everywhere at once, so you need to be at least minimally competent to take care of yourself - at least enough to run and hide, or dive for cover, or climb a hill without having to stop for a breather.  And I'll feel shitty if you trip over a rock and die on my watch, before you can even raise a single skeleton."</p><p>Harrow still wasn't convinced, and her lungs felt like they were going to collapse in on themselves like the void of space, but she couldn't deny that there was something just a tiny bit unexpectedly pleasant about Gideon saying the words, "I'm your cav" and "my job to protect you."  Even if they were interspersed with other, more obnoxious words like "minimally competent" or "trip over a rock and die."</p><p>She was probably going to die doing this, but it wouldn't be by tripping over a rock.</p><p>"So, same time tomorrow?" Gideon asked, grinning.</p><p>The idea sounded like screaming agony, but she could hardly refuse. "Very well," Harrow agreed, drawing herself up straight and trying to act like her legs weren't quivering with the sheer effort.  </p><p>"Great!" Gideon said with all the eagerness of a child promised all the candy she could eat.  "I'll treat you to a coffee before-hand if you want, too."</p><p>That prospect was somehow even more terrifying than the idea of running more laps, but Harrow nodded anyway.  </p><p>~~~</p><p>She spent the rest of the evening alternately heaving up her guts in the bathroom or curled under her blanket shivering as if she had a fever. She couldn't go to the teens for advice.  They weren't even old enough to look at a titty.  Did <i>she</i> want to look at a titty? Maybe?  She wasn't sure.  But she couldn't inflict that on Isaac and Jeannemary, either way.  She would die of embarrassment and/or exhaustion first.  Sometime long past lights out, Harrow eventually managed to fall into a fitful, sweaty doze.</p><p>In the morning, she crawled painfully out of bed, her limbs stiff with some kind of premature rigor.  It reminded her once again of how much she hated being a prisoner of meat.  Meat was always so fussy, needing to be babied with fluids and rest and movements (but only the right kind of movements.)  Bones were simple, clean, and did as they were told.  Bones didn't crave coffee, either, unlike disobedient flesh.</p><p>She managed to drag her meat-prison through the day, somehow, until it was time to meet up with Gideon.  She slipped into the cafeteria as though she were on a secret mission, and being caught would mean torture or worse.  </p><p>"Hey, Bone Nun," came the voice she'd been both anticipating and dreading.  Gideon was behind the counter, leaning over it with a grin.  "What can I get you?  Black like your heart?"</p><p>Harrow shrugged in confused agreement.  She'd been able to finish the drink before, so it was probably fine.  </p><p>"Hey Magnus," Gideon said after she'd made them each a cup, "cover for me?" </p><p>The curly-haired man nodded and said, "Have a nice date!" as Gideon circled around to join Harrow.  </p><p>"It's not a date," Harrow said, but the man (who, she had to remind herself, was Colonel Pent's husband and Gideon's foster-dad, not just some random BARI artist) just smiled and waved the two of them off.</p><p>They found a table near one of the big plex windows that stared out into the depths of space like an unending nightmare of emptiness, and sat together in awkward silence for a few minutes.  Harrow sipped her drink, still unable to avoid grimacing at the taste.  "You don't like it?" Gideon said, sounding surprised.</p><p>"It's just so strong," Harrow admitted.  "At home, we just drank water, or maybe, on a special occasion, water with a few drops of lemon or mint in it."</p><p>"That was your idea of a good time? Water with lemon drops?"</p><p>"Not really," Harrow said.  "I always thought it was kind of spicy."</p><p>Gideon seemed to be struggling to take this in, or at least to do so without laughing.  "Shit, I'm sorry," she said at last.  "I probably almost murdered you with dark roast spiked with cinnamon."</p><p>"I'm getting used to it," Harrow said quickly.  "It's not that bad."</p><p>Gideon <i>did</i> laugh at that, but not unkindly.  "I'll take that as a compliment."  She twirled her stir stick between her fingers and said, "Why did you join the Cohort? If it's not too personal.  You're the heir to your House, right? You could have had a cushy life, sitting on a fancy chair and drinking lemon water brought to you by servants."</p><p>"The Ninth isn't really... cushy," Harrow said, in the understatement of the myriad.  "My parents always impressed on me that I had a responsibility as the heir, to make sacrifices for my people.  Not that kind of sacrifices," she added hastily, seeing the look on Gideon's face. There were a lot of misconceptions about exactly what kind of rites the Ninth House practiced, as she'd come to realize.  </p><p>"Oh, so it's one of those 'you have to get out in the world so you can toughen up and really understand suffering and hardship so you can be a better leader someday' things?"  Gideon looked thoughtful.  "Kinda makes me glad I don't have parents, if that's how they treat you."</p><p>For a moment, Harrow considered telling Gideon that wasn't how it had been at all - that her parents had ordered her not to go, had told her she was throwing away the life that they had paid so dearly for - but she couldn't bring herself to do so. Instead she just stared into her coffee, dark as the uncaring universe outside, and said, "I'm here for the benefit of my House."</p><p>It was simultaneously an enormous relief and the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened (at least, since the bookstore incident) when Jeannemary and Isaac spotted them and hurried over, breaking the uncomfortable silence.  "Hey Harrow," Isaac said at a volume that was probably audible to the entire ship's crew, "are you on a date? Are you having a date right now?"</p><p>
  <span class="small">("Oh my god, Isaac, you can't just ask someone if they're on a date!")</span>
</p><p>Gideon gave Harrow an apologetic smile, then grinned at the teens.  "We were just grabbing some BARI before heading to the gym for some training.  Wanna join us?"</p><p>Jeannemary looked as if she'd just been invited to receive a medal of honour from the Necrolord Prime.  Isaac was slightly less starstruck, but still clearly gratified on his cavalier's behalf.  Harrow was pretty sure it wasn't her they were excited about training with, because why would they be? </p><p>Once they'd all finished their respective drinks, they made the short trek to the gym and started to get warmed up.  Yet again, Harrow remembered why she hated flesh - her muscles protested such treatment vigorously, especially at first.  "Meat is stupid and pointless," she protested, even as Gideon laughed and told her to do another set of star jumps.  At least with another cavalier here, she thought, Gideon would have a second victim to expend her sadistic energy on.  </p><p>~~~</p><p>
  <b>Three weeks later</b>
</p><p>Harrow was struggling through another pathetic round of push-ups, with Gideon standing by to provide moral support and yelling, when she realized that someone was watching them.  She rested on her knees, using it as an excuse to catch her breath, and saw a group of officers across the room who were clearly staring at them.  Three of them had the purple and gold trim of the Third House, and the other two wore Second House crimson and white.  Everyone else seemed to be ignoring them, carrying on with their workouts, but Harrow could feel their eyes on her and it made her (more) self-conscious of her failings.  </p><p>Gideon had the group running next, which would bring them on a course right by the watching officers.  As they passed them, Harrow's breath rasping ragged in her throat, she heard one of them say, "She doesn't look bad, but what about that sad little necro?"</p><p>"Temporary assignment," one of the Second House officers replied.  "Nothing that can't be..." Then Harrow was too far away to hear any more.  Shaken, she straggled after the rest of her group, falling further and further behind.  Eventually Gideon noticed and dropped back to check on her.</p><p>"You okay?" she asked. "You're doing good, just a little further."  She wasn't even out of breath, Harrow noted bitterly.  They'd been training together almost every day for the past several weeks, but it didn't seem to have any effect on Harrow's strength or endurance.</p><p>"No," she snapped. "I'm done."  She stopped running and instead walked briskly - well, hobbled briskly - over to the water station to get a drink. </p><p>Gideon jogged along behind her.  "Hey, Harrow, look, if I was pushing too hard, I'm sorry-"</p><p>"It's fine," Harrow said, in a tone that indicated it patently was <i>not</i> fine.  "Leave me alone."  Gideon looked like she wanted to argue, but backed off a few steps, giving Harrow some space.</p><p>It had been stupid to even start getting attached to anyone here, Harrow thought as she gulped down a cup of tepid water.  The teens would probably be killed in action, because that was what happened to most Fourth House cannon fodder, and Gideon was going to be reassigned, and her entire plan would end in failure, with her bleeding out on a battlefield somewhere because she hadn't been able to run a lap without collapsing into a wheezing mess, which would be exactly what her parents expected of her... </p><p>One of the Third House officers, a tall, sinuous blonde with her hair slicked back in a ponytail and her uniform pressed so neatly it could cut butter, made her way across the room to Gideon.  "So, you're Nul," she said.  "Are the rumours about your skills true?"</p><p>Harrow fumed quietly to herself as Gideon stood at attention under the officer's hungry gaze.  "Yes, Captain."  It wasn't bragging, but it wasn't false modesty either.  Just an honest appraisal.</p><p>"My name is Ianthe Tridentarius, Princess of Ida, and for reasons both stupid and bureaucratic, I need a cavalier.  I heard there was an unattached and quite competent one on the <i>Harbinger,</i> so I came to have a look for myself.  I must say, so far you seem to live up to the stories, but I'd like to see you in action."  She gestured and one of the other Third House soldiers stepped forward, drawing his rapier and raising it to salute.</p><p>Gideon looked momentarily surprised, but drew her sword as well, moving into position for a duel.  Harrow had never seen a proper cavaliers' duel, only what passed for one between Ortus and his father.  She watched with a morbid disinterest.</p><p>"To the first touch," drawled Captain Tridentarius.  "Clavicle to sacrum, arms exception, main gauche at liberty.  Call."</p><p>"Naberius Tern," said the man, brisk and businesslike, maybe even a little bit bored.</p><p>Gideon saluted in return.  "Gideon Nul," she said, her voice ringing out in the large room.   </p><p>"Begin!" the captain ordered.  </p><p>They circled one another at first, evaluating stance, size, reach.  There were a few feints - quick motions to see if they could draw the other out, that went nowhere.  Harrow didn't know anything about the intricacies of duelling, but she could tell both of them were skilled at this.  Gideon was slightly the larger of the two, but Naberius moved with more fluidity.  The blonde captain stood with her arms folded. She was watching them as if at a livestock auction, measuring one's strength against the other.  On the other side of the room, the other officers were watching with a more detached curiosity, chatting quietly amongst themselves as the duel proceeded.</p><p>Naberius moved in first, lunging to reach Gideon but falling short as she stepped out of his range. Before he could recover his position, Gideon's blade flickered like lightning and came within a breath of touching him, but at the last moment he blocked, turning her blow aside.  Naberius looked momentarily offended that it had required effort to sweep her blade off track and keep it from striking his chest.  </p><p>Then everything moved very quickly, almost faster than Harrow could follow.  Gideon was on the defensive now, parrying Naberius's attacks as they targeted her shoulder, chest, side.  Their blades shrieked as they slid against one another, blow after blow turned away as they clashed.  Gideon's retaliation looked smooth but brutal to Harrow, not as effortless as Naberius's clockwork motions - she swung with more violence, less grace, and Naberius kept evading her.  It was like watching a wheat thresher fight a jeweler's lathe.</p><p>The point of his sword caught Gideon's arm after one badly-timed deflection, leaving a gradually-spreading red stain on the white fabric.  Harrow couldn't be sure, but she thought he'd done it on purpose - apparently that didn't count as a hit under the terms of the duel, but it might be enough to throw Gideon off her form, to wear her energy down.  Gideon's brow was furrowed in concentration and Harrow could see the sweat glistening there.  She was acutely aware of how Gideon had just been training, and was probably already tired when she'd started this fight, while Naberius had been fresh.  How much longer could she keep going?</p><p>The answer, as it turned out, was still quite a long time.  Even though the strain was showing on her face, Gideon managed to keep evading his thrusts, pressing him with repeated attacks that kept him on the defensive.  At last, though, she overreached - lunging forward to try and strike Naberius left her off-balance and she stumbled, allowing him an opening.  As he drove the point of his sword in a swift line towards her, Gideon reached up with her empty hand and grabbed it, yanking it off-course.  Everyone in the room seemed to gasp at the same time, except Gideon who, with blood streaming down her wrist, swung her sword up and tapped Naberius lightly on the chest.  "Take that, bitch," she said with a grin.  </p><p>"Match to the... to Gideon," Ianthe Tridentarius said, sounding rather surprised in spite of herself.  </p><p>Gideon dropped her sword and knelt there, wincing and winded, and Naberius turned and stalked away in a huff.  Harrow had the sense that Gideon hadn't exactly broken the rules of the fight, but had bent them until they squealed.  She hurried over to her, kneeling down beside her.  "Are you hurt? Let me see your hand."  </p><p>Gideon let her examine it.  "I thought meat was stupid and pointless," she said with a weary smile.</p><p>Captain Tridentarius's long, slim shadow loomed over them.  "A commendable, if rather crude, performance.  You would need to refine your manners to be a suitable cavalier of the Third, but you seem capable of learning, and certainly are talented with the blade. Yes, you'll do."</p><p>An icy chill in her voice, Harrow glared up at the captain and said, "She isn't available."</p><p>Taken aback, Tridentarius raised an eyebrow. "Oh? That's not what I was told.  She hasn't taken the oath to any necromancer yet."</p><p>"No, but..."  Harrow wasn't sure how to finish that sentence.  Was she getting in the way of Gideon's career advancement?  Surely being the cavalier to someone like Ianthe Tridentarius, Princess of Ida, would be a huge achievement for her.  Being Harrow's cavalier would be, more than likely, a literal dead end.  "... but it's up to her," she finished lamely.</p><p>Gideon's amber eyes were unreadable.  "Can I have a few minutes to think this over?"</p><p>"You may," Ianthe said with a shrug.  "At least it shows you're not always the type to make rash decisions."  She moved back to the other side of the room with the group she'd come in with, giving them some space.</p><p>"What do you mean, I'm not available?" Gideon said, turning back to Harrow.</p><p>"I thought..."  Harrow worried at her lower lip, biting it until it was raw.  "I hoped, maybe... you and I... might..."</p><p>"Oh," Gideon said, and then, "<i>Oh.</i> Well. Is that what you want?"</p><p>"I'm not worth your time," Harrow said miserably.  "I don't even know why you've bothered with me as much as you have, except that Colonel Pent ordered you to."</p><p>"Harrow," Gideon said quietly, reaching out with her unbloodied hand to tip her chin up, "do you think Colonel Pent ordered me to take you out for coffee?"  She paused, thinking for a moment.  "I guess technically Magnus kind of did.  But he doesn't count.  Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I haven't been hanging around with you because I have to.  I like you, you stupid Bone Nun."</p><p>"Oh," Harrow said, trying to make sense of it all.  "But I still can't ask you to be my cavalier.  It wouldn't be fair to you."</p><p>Gideon scoffed.  "Do you really think I want to trail around after some Third House princess? I'd probably never see the front that way, she's going to spend all her time in briefings and strategy sessions and never set foot on an actual battlefield.  Booo-ring."</p><p>"No, I mean, it wouldn't be fair because... you don't know why I'm really here." Harrow's voice was barely above a whisper.  </p><p>"Okay. Why is that?" said Gideon.</p><p>"I'm here because my House is dying," she said quietly.  "Within a generation, there won't be anyone left but me.  I'll wither and grow old ruling over a House of dust.  And I need to save them - save us.  So I thought, if I join the Cohort, and serve well enough, or get lucky enough, maybe I can talk to the Necrolord Prime, and make him do something, <i>anything</i> to help us. He'll probably strike me down for my impudence, but at least I'll die having tried to do something."</p><p>"So you... joined the Cohort for a chance to yell at God?"  Gideon's grin was, if anything, even larger than before.  "Harrow, how could you think I wouldn't <i>love</i> to help you do that? Baby, I'll keep you alive until we win so many medals that that bastard has to show up and present one himself.  Come on, what are you waiting for? Let's do this."  She held Harrow's hand in her injured one, the blood warm and sticky against her skin.  "One flesh, one end.  Say it too."</p><p>"One flesh, one end," Harrow said, barely able to believe it was real.  </p><p>"There," Gideon said, smiling in satisfaction.  "It's done."</p><p>"Can I fix your hand now?" Harrow said with a grimace of concern.  When Gideon nodded, she carefully knit the flesh and tendons and veins back together, closing the wound.  Even that little bit of necromancy left her drained, and she sank back down with a gasp. </p><p>Gideon helped her to her unsteady feet, then raised Harrow's fingers to her lips and gave them a quick kiss that made her blush beneath her sweat-caked skull makeup.  "Perfect. I'll explain to Captain Princess over there that I'm taken, and then we can go get coffee and you can tell me more about your crazy plan.  I can't wait." </p><p>Harrow watched as she jogged over to the group of officers, still not sure what to make of any of this.  But for the first time, she felt something other than fear and worry and desperation.  Gideon Nul, born of no House, raised by the <i>Harbinger</i>, a brave and cunning fighter (and an excellent BARI star to boot), had chosen to be <i>her</i> cavalier, and Harrow felt hope.</p>
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